


Mercenaries

by breakdancingsigma (hetawholockvengerstuck)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Musical Instruments, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, References to the comics, Team Dynamics, Tickling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetawholockvengerstuck/pseuds/breakdancingsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercenary work isn't all about objectives, bloodshed, and weaponry. Well, okay, it is about those things, but it's also about the wacky antics up in the base, the friendly spats and heated debates, the little moments shared when barriers are dropped, and the accidents that everyone will laugh about later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Your Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every team needs an origin story. Of sorts.

Four men sat in a train car on the way to Teufort. For the first two minutes, they sat in the otherwise empty car, sneaking glances at the men who could only be their new teammates, trying to decipher their roles in the group and sizing them up. 

Two minutes of silence. Then one of the men shot out of his seat and barked, "Alright, maggots, stand at attention!"

He received blank stares, and a chuckle from the man sitting closest to him. "Well, that's one question answered," the man said, smiling. He approached with his hand outstretched. "Howdy, Soldier. I guess you'll be callin' me Engineer."

Soldier allowed himself a brief grin as he grasped Engineer's hand with bone-crushing force. "Well met, private! I like your attitude!" He turned to the other two men and shouted, "Now  _you,_  you're walkin' a thin line! When a commanding officer speaks, you  _respond!_ " 

The third man snorted. "Zhere is no commanding officer, _Herr_ Soldier. Ve are mercenaries, not an army."

At the sound of the German accent, Soldier clenched his fists. "What the hell's a Kraut doin' on this train?"

"Now, now, Soldier," Engineer said, "that's no way to address a teammate. If I'm not mistaken, you oughta've been told that there'd be foreigners workin' alongside us. Didn't Miss Pauling give you the run-down?"

"That is correct!" Soldier replied promptly. "But I expected allies, not enemies!"

"Ve are hardly enemies," the German replied, rolling his eyes. "Our countries have been at peace for nearly five years now, and I have not been to Germany for longer zhan zhat."

"Off killin' Frenchies, eh? Fightin' for Hitler?"

"Nein, I vas here in America, vorking for our employer, who vas kind enough to fund my relocation. Zhis mission of ours, vhatever it is, it has been planned for some time now."

Engineer raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Pardon my askin', but what made you so special, that our employer should hire you ahead of time?"

"Circumstances, I should guess. Zhe technology I vas vorking on at zhe time vas invaluable to our employer, and had to be removed from Germany. It vas an easy decision to make, of course. Turning down zhe offer vould have left me stranded in zhe Third Reich under zhe command of an insufferable  _arschloch_ who vould have required me to dedicate my vork to him. And zhat  _hurensohn_ Mengele vould have no doubt stolen my results and published zhem as his!" He paused in his tirade to take a deep breath, then continued more calmly, "To answer your question,  _Herr_ Engineer, I vas hired so zhat I could be removed from an unsavory situvation."

Soldier rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Well, if you've got a bone to pick with a die-hard Nazi like Mengele, I suppose you can't be too evil."

"So I take it your the Medic?" Engineer asked, taking a seat that placed him in between Medic and Soldier.

" _Ja_." 

"You mentioned some technology. Anythin' you're at liberty to talk about?"

There was a twinkle in Medic's eyes. "You vill see vhen ve arrive."

Engineer nodded, then turned to the one man who had stayed silent throughout the exchange. "Guess that just leaves the big feller here. Let me guess, demolition?"

The man shook his head. "Heavy weapons," he said in slow, heavily accented English, pointing to himself. 

Once again, Soldier shot to his feet. "Commie! There's a commie on this train!"

Medic rubbed his temples. "Vhat is vith all zhe yelling?"

"What?" shouted Soldier.

Suddenly, a fifth voice spoke up. "Zhis is becoming ridiculous."

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to the opposite end of the car, where a tall, thin man had been relaxing, unnoticed, the entire time. Now the man lit a cigarette and met each pair of eyes individually, a look of amusement mixed with disapproval gracing his fine features. 

Medic sat up straighter. "And who might you be?"

"You will know me as Spy for zhe duration of our employment," the man replied, exhaling smoke. 

"And you've been zhere zhe entire time?"

The Spy smirked. "Of course,  _docteur_. What, did you think I boarded zhe train five minutes ago?"

"You've been awful quiet over there," Engineer said.

"I have been observing you. Our employer has been most adamant about not divulging information about zhe members of zhe team." Spy's eyes slid over to Soldier. "You do not seem to have a problem with a Frenchman on your team."

Soldier grinned. "The French are our allies! They provide us with cannon fodder and croysants!"

Spy flinched at Soldier's mispronunciation of croissant before arranging his features into haughty expression. "I see. Zhat makes zhings easier, I suppose."

Throughout all this, the Heavy was looking back and forth between Spy and the others, an expression of mild confusion on his face. Medic noticed, and asked, "Is everyzhing alright,  _Herr_ Heavy?"

"Hard to keep up," Heavy replied. "Much English to learn still."

"All our accents prob'ly ain't helpin' much," Engineer said, offering a grin.

"I will learn."

"That's the spirit, commie!" Soldier said. 

* * *

The train did not stop at the Teufort station--a shoddy little thing, little more than a platform and a couple of shacks--but continued for a few miles more before coming to a stop by a small town--could it be called a town?--with a dusty metal sign proclaiming the place to be "2Fort". There, the five mercenaries were met by a familiar face.

"Good afternoon," Miss Pauling said, offering a hesitant smile. "Welcome to your new home! I'm glad you all could make it. You're the first to arrive, so you'll get to pick your rooms when we reach the base. Ready for a tour?"

* * *

The first morning spent at the base was an early one, mostly due to Soldier's deafening attempts to rouse everyone in time for early-morning exercises. He succeeded in waking all but Heavy, but was unable to persuade any of the grumpy mercs to participate in "one hundred push-ups, ten laps around the base, two hundred sit-ups, and an indeterminate number of naked jumping jacks!"

Even Spy, who was normally an early riser, seemed irritated. He threw together a quick breakfast and removed himself to the well-furnished room that Miss Pauling had called a "smoking room."

Engineer made eggs and toast for himself and Medic, leaving the ingredients out for Soldier and Heavy, and spent the morning assisting the doctor in creating a chore schedule. The rest of the day was spent organizing the base, setting up in labs and workshops, and generally keeping interaction to a minimum.

In short, it was the quietest the base would be for the duration of the Gravel War.

* * *

On day three, two more teammates arrived. Around noon, during a rare lunch hour when all five residents were eating at the same time, the quiet sound of chewing was suddenly covered up by a slamming door and a loud, "Oy, where's me welcome party?"

Spy rolled his eyes. "Brilliant. A Scot."

"We must greet the new recruit!" Soldier barked, then raised his voice: "Get yer ass in here, private, and state yer name and business!"

The man who walked through the door was unlike anything the men had expected. Many of them had conjured up an image of a pale, red-haired, kilt-clad man with a sour expression. The newcomer was decidedly the opposite of that, with dark hair and skin, a brilliant smile, and an eyepatch. 

"Here ye are, lads! Ah been searchin' the place for ten minutes now!"

"Name and business!" Soldier reiterated.

"Aye, ah was gettin' there, man. Ah'll be yer Demoman, and me business is blowin' the enemy sky high!" 

Soldier grinned. "I like your attitude, private! I'm promotin' you to lieutenant!"

"Which still means absolutely nozhing," Spy said, sipping his tea.

Engineer greeted Demoman and introduced him to the rest of the team. He didn't need Spy's observation skills to gauge just how well the newcomer would get along with everyone--Soldier had clearly found a new favorite teammate, Medic seemed a bit wary, Spy disdainful, and Heavy...well, the thick Scottish accent was clearly giving him trouble, but Demoman was good-natured enough to get past that.

When the last person had been introduced, Demoman turned to Engineer and said, "So who's the bastard in the camper?"

"Camper?"

"Ye know, the van outside? Skinny fella, floppy hat, sunglasses? Face like a 'orse?"

The mercs shared a look. "There ain't nobody else livin' here," Engineer said.

"Bloody lie, that is!" Demoman said. "Come on, then, ah'll show ye!"

* * *

There was indeed a camper parked to the side of the base, a camper that had most certainly not been there when Soldier performed his morning exercise routine. And there was indeed a tall, gangly man wearing a slouch hat and shades. He waved in greeting as the group approached.

"G'day, blokes! I was wonderin' when you'd show up."

"Did it not occur to you," Spy said, "to actually  _enter zhe base?_ "

The blank look the man gave Spy was answer enough. "Why would I want to do that?"

Medic sighed. "So you arrived here, parked your van, and have been sitting outside for...how long?"

The man tilted his head up and squinted. "About four hours, I'd reckon."

Demoman seemed to find that extremely funny.

* * *

It rapidly became apparent that a list of rules needed to be compiled. 

Demoman and Engineer had adjoining labs. For obvious reasons, this posed a problem. Engineer had come dangerously close to snapping at his teammate on multiple occasions, and even Demoman (who had quickly established himself as the team drunkard) knew that a pissed off Engineer was something to be avoided at all costs. Soldier's tendency towards nudity made mornings uncomfortable, and although they had long since given up getting Sniper to move out of his camper and into the base, they were adamant about getting him to take a shower.

They started with seven rules:

_1) No nudity outside of private rooms._

_2) Smoking is prohibited in the medbay, labs, and workstations._

_3) Broken glass of any sort must be cleaned up and disposed of promptly._

_4) Demolition tests are to take place in the designated test range behind the base._

_5) Bathing is required at least three times a week, unless outside forces prohibit this._

_6) Team members living outside the base must comply with base rules._

_7) Birds belonging to members of the team are not to be used for target practice._

Even as he hung the list on the corkboard beside the fridge, Medic knew there would be many, many more.

* * *

By the time the eighth and final member of the team arrived, Heavy's grasp of English had improved to the point where even Demoman's accent didn't throw him off, and Heavy himself was able to make his thoughts known to his colleagues. Which was good, because nobody could understand Pyro.

"Mmph, mm mmph!"

"It is hopeless! I have no idea vhat zhey are saying!"

"Are ye sure ye dinnae want tae take yer mask off?"

"Mmph!"

* * *

_8) Cigarettes are not to be lit with flamethrowers._

_9) Flamethrowers are not to be used in the base._

* * *

The team spent two months together, adjusting to their new life on the battlefield, adjusting to each other, and most of all adjusting to the ferocious heat. While Sniper and Engineer were used to high temperatures, and Pyro seemed to have no trouble running around in a full-body suit regardless of temperature, Heavy and Medic spent the first month in what felt like hell. 

Two months of fighting, two months of squabbling over chores and figuring out shower schedules the hard way, two months of isolation from the world. There would be days off in the future, but those seemed so far away. 

Medic perfected his Medigun and built a roost for his doves that was seldom used; Engineer, working from his grandfather's blueprints as well as from his own imagination, created sentries, dispensers, and teleporters; Demoman tested dozens of designs for his grenades; Heavy made a prototype gun, and built Sascha when his requested supplies arrived at base; and Spy completed his disguise kit, hidden away in his cigarette case. The opposing team countered their every move, but with Respawn in effect, it fell into a pattern.

Then, towards the beginning of the third month, the Adminstrator's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, informing the teams that a new member had been added to the line-up. Their Scouts would arrive in two days. 

Never had a new member created such anticipation. Nobody had expected a ninth person to join, which meant shuffling the chore schedule, finding extra chairs and lockers, calibrating sentries and dispensers, and most importantly, finding a bedroom. The bases were built for eight people, not nine. For the first time they were thankful for Sniper's sleeping arrangements; all they had to do was move the few belongings Sniper had deposited in his room, and they had a bed for the Scout.

 _The Scout_. The name was vague, and left room for imagination. Sniper envisioned a man taking to the rooftops, surveying the battlefield below and relaying information to his teammates. Soldier thought of signal flares and surprise attacks. Even Spy was excited, although he did his best to hide it. He was quite partial to the idea of a teammate who had mastered the art of stealth, able to go ahead, scope out the target, and warn Spy of any and all obstacles, all without alerting the enemy to anything amiss.

They woke up early on the appointed day, dressed in their uniforms, ate a quick breakfast, and did almost nothing as they waited for the train to arrive. At a quarter past noon, the newest member stepped off the train, took a deep breath, picked up his suitcases, and started at a brisk walk towards the base.

From his vantage point on the roof, Sniper lowered his rifle and radioed the Engineer. "Rookie's headed this way, Truckie."

"What's he like?" 

"You'll see."

* * *

Never had a new member created such disappointment.

Scout was nothing like the team had imagined. He was loud, cocksure, obnoxious, and uncouth. He irritated half the team and pissed off the other half. He was scrawny, lacked common sense, and talked back  _constantly_.

But most of all, he was so  _young_. Still a boy, barely nineteen, probably, with a lopsided grin and so much energy and a naivety about him that only served to remind his teammates about the danger he would be in.

* * *

"Scout is fast," Heavy said, rubbing his temples. "So fast I cannot see."

"Ye got that right," Demoman said, adjusting his beanie. "Ah been through Respawn seven times now, and ah'm damn well sure the lad's only been through twice. He's a wee thing, but he's got some power in those legs o' his."

Heavy nodded. "Was worried he would be pummeled. Little man is easy to break."

"Aye, but they'd 'ave to catch 'im first!"

* * *

_10) Baseball is not to be played inside the base._

_11) Spy's knives are not to be used as cooking or eating utensils._

_~~12) Scout is the best. Give him all your drinks~~  
_

_12) Messing with the rules means that you have volunteered to be Medic's test subject or Soldier's exercise partner._

_13) Scout may not consume alcohol._


	2. Strike Up The Band

"Hey, Spy, you got a minute?"

Spy sighed and folded the newest edition of  _Dapper Cadaver_ before placing it on the table beside his armchair. As he always did when addressing unwanted visitors to his smoking room, he refrained from facing the door as he said, "It depends on what you have to say, laborer."

As he hadn't been invited in, Engineer remained in the doorway. "It's nothing much, really. Just got a quick question: would you happen to know of any music with parts for the guitar, saxophone, bagpipes, bugle, and violin?"

"Excuse me?" Spy actually did turn around at that. "I am quite certain there is no composition for that combination of instruments. If there is, it should be burned."

"You might be right about that, Spy," Engineer said, deep in thought. "We probably need to add drums, right?"

"Get out."

* * *

The next morning saw Spy running around the base in a bathrobe, balaclava pulled hastily over his face, searching for the bugle that was blaring "Reveille". By the time it occurred to his tired brain to check outside, the bugle had stopped...and been replaced by a saxophone.

Spy located the source of his woe on the training field behind the base. There, he found Soldier, Demoman, and Sniper, all holding instruments.

"What is the meaning of this?" Spy demanded, shouting to be heard over Sniper's saxophone. To his relief, the music--if it could even be called "music"--stopped.

"I am teaching these men how to play 'Reveille'!" Soldier declared.

"I gathered as much," Spy growled. "What I do  _not_ understand is  _why._ "

"We're tryin' tae find a song we can all play," Demo replied. "Since ye wouldnae find us one."

"There  _are_ no songs for--never mind." Spy sighed. "If you  _must_ do this, can it not wait until later? When there are not people trying to  _sleep?_ "

Soldier actually looked offended. "You imbecile! 'Reveille' must be played at dawn! Playing it at any other time would be completely inappropriate! Disrespectful!  _Disgraceful!_ Sniper!" With an abrupt about-face, Soldier shouted, "Why have you stopped playing?"

With a smirk that could only bode ill, Sniper lifted the saxophone to his lips and let out a horrendous noise that left Spy's ears ringing.

"Hmm." Soldier rubbed his chin, seemingly unphased. "We'll work on that, Private."

"Just keep it down," Spy said, rubbing his ears. "I am going to see if the Medic has any earplugs."

"See ya later, you dirty backstabber!" Soldier called cheerfully. "Now, then, Demo, let's see you give it a try."

If anyone had managed to remain asleep through the saxophone, they were most assuredly woken by the screeching of Demo's bagpipes.

* * *

 

Spy had almost managed to forget the morning's events. Then, just as he was thinking of turning in for the night, a horrible racket from the training gym had him cloaking and scurrying to investigate what sounded like a prolonged explosion.

He kicked the door open, pistol at the ready and pointed towards the center of the room as he took in the scene. The noise had stopped when he entered, leaving his ears ringing for the second time that day. Then, with a groan, he uncloaked. "You must be joking."

"Ah, Spy! So good of you to join us." Medic's grin was far too wide for a person who had recently experienced the level of pure noise that he had. At least Engie had the decency to look relieved now that the din had stopped.

That din, apparently, had been caused by Scout. Spy cursed whichever moron had decided to give the hyperactive boy a drum set.

"Please," Spy groaned, " _please_ tell me that you two are here to put a stop to this...this... _cacophony._ _"_

"Hey!" Scout exclaimed. "My playing ain't  _that_ bad!"

"It...could use some work," Engineer admitted.

" _I_ could use some  _silence_ ," Spy said. " _Some_ people require sleep to function."

"Ve vill not be long, Herr Spy," Medic assured him. "Although, I vould prefer if ve could establish which drums make which sounds. At zhe very least, ve should establish zhe basics--"

"I've  _got_ the basics down, Doc!" Scout protested. "C'mon, I wanna start playin' for real!"

 _"Mon dieu,_ " Spy muttered, turning to leave. " _Docteur,_ I will be helping myself to some more of those earplugs. Good  _night_."

* * *

It kept happening. Whenever Spy wanted just a  _few minutes_ of peace and quiet, one or more--usually more--of those dimwits were playing, almost always attempting songs that were not meant to be played with the assortment of instruments available to them. At this point, Spy wasn't sure  _any_ of them knew how to play.

He knew he wasn't the only one bothered by the endless noise. More than once, Spy encountered Heavy as they both attempted to put distance between themselves and the sorry excuse for a concert that was taking place in the base. It happened so often that Heavy started packing extra sandwiches so neither of them would have to return for dinner.

It all came to a head when Spy was woken up one morning by a cheery  _ding!_ in his ear. He shot up with a scream, startling Pyro into jumping back a few feet.

"That is  _it!_ " Spy shouted, throwing a pillow against the far wall. "I have  _had it_  with those six and their drumming and their bagpipes at the most ungodly hours! And now you and your...what is that?"

In response, Pyro tapped their triangle.  _Ding!_

After ten seconds of unintelligible yelling, Spy threw off the covers, pulled on his bathrobe, and stormed off to down the hall, Pyro following a few paces behind.

* * *

"This ends  _now!_ "

_Ding!_

The six men seated at the breakfast table looked up from their food with mild confusion. "Hey there, pardner," Engineer said carefully, "I think you might want a cup of coffee before you do anythin' drastic."

"I am not here for coffee! I am here to put a stop to the endless cacophony that you are so set on creating!"

_Ding!_

"I have endured this for far too long! We all have!"

_Ding!_

" _Will you stop that?!"_

Pyro hesitated, made a small forlorn sound, and gave the tiniest of taps to the triangle before lowering it.

"Thank you." Spy took a moment to compose himself. "Now. I want all of you to assemble in my smoking room once you have finished breakfast. No later than 6:30 a.m.  _All of you_. And bring your godforsaken instruments."

* * *

The would-be musicians arrived with some trepidation at the door of Spy's smoking room, Soldier clutching his bugle to his chest protectively.

"Alright, boys," Engineer said, "y'all here? Y'all got your instruments?"

"The drums weren't in the training room," Scout said.

"Did'ya check the corners?"

"I checked  _everywhere."_

Medic sighed. "Ve shall just have to hope Herr Spy vill be lenient."

"Let's just get this over with," Demo grumbled, lifting a hand to knock. Before his fist even made contact, the door swung open to reveal Spy, still in his pajamas and balaclava. 

"Gentlemen. Please, come in."

The room was more well-lit than they'd ever seen it before. The armchairs had been pushed to the side of the room, replaced by a single stool. Several other stools were lined up against the wall; the coffee table held glasses of water.

"Hey, my drums!" Scout said, pointing unnecessarily to the center of the room. The drums were indeed there, sitting opposite a piano.

"I took the liberty of having it moved up here," Spy said. "Is everyone present? Good. Then we may begin." 

"What exactly are you having us do, Spy?" Engineer asked.

"Is it not obvious? Since you seem so intent on finding music to play together, you will all be getting proper lessons. If it takes all day--if it takes all  _month_ \--I will find actual music for you to play. Now, Scout, I want you to sit at the drums and  _not touch them_ until I tell you to. Are you capable of that, boy?"

"Very funny," Scout spat. "You better let me play sometime today, Frenchie."

Spy ignored him. "Demoman, you will have to sit this first song out. I am afraid I could not find a place to insert the bagpipes."

"How about up your--"

" _Scout!_ "

"Alright, alright, sheesh."

Spy took a deep breath. "Engineer may also sit out. The rest of you, stand in the middle of the room. Soldier, there is a trumpet on my desk that you may use in place of your bugle."

"And where will you be, crouton?" Soldier demanded. 

"Also, vhy is zhere a piano?" Medic asked.

In response, Spy strode over and took a seat at the piano. "I hope there are no more questions?"

"Actually, yeah," Sniper spoke up. "What the hell are we playing?"

"Ah, yes, of course." Spy arranged the sheet music on his piano. "We be playing Monsieur Glenn Miller's 'In The Mood' with the piano, violin, trumpet, drums, triangle, and saxophone. As for you, Demoman." Spy nodded to the man now sitting in one of his armchairs. "How proficient are you at playing the bagpipes?"

"What kinda question is that?" Demoman asked. "There's no' a DeGroot alive better than me at the bagpipes!"

"Are you capable of playing a reel?"

"O' course!"

"Perfect. Then we shall also attempt a bagpipe-guitar duet of a Scottish reel." Spy adjusted his gloves and placed his fingers on the piano. "Now then, gentlemen. Shall we begin?"

* * *

Heavy had woken early to escape the noise before it started, armed with enough sandwiches to allow him to remain away from base the entire day. It was nearly 10 p.m., therefore, when he returned.

The moment he walked in the door, he heard the music. Not the tumultuous sound of warring instruments, but actual, organized  _music_. He followed the sound to Spy's smoking room and cracked the door open.

Sniper was in the middle of a saxophone solo, accompanied only the slightest bit by Scout on the drums--how anyone had managed to get him to play  _quietly,_ Heavy didn't know. Soldier added a bit of trumpet to the mix, then Medic joined in with the violin. There was an eight-second period of drum solo where Scout let loose, then the rest of the instruments joined in again. Out of the corner of his eye, Heavy saw Spy at the piano, eyes closed, a genuine smile on his face. Occasionally, Pyro added a  _ding!_

The moment the song ended, Engineer began to strum at his guitar. Within a few seconds, Demoman began to play the bagpipes.

Until that moment, Heavy had harbored a very firm dislike of bagpipes. The few times he'd heard them, he had been reminded of the cats that he used to rescue from mean little children, and the sounds that they made before he could get to them. According to Spy, this opinion was common.

Hearing them now, Heavy found that he actually  _enjoyed_ the sound. He marveled at the pace at which Demoman's fingers moved over the instrument, and at how, even when the Scotsman took a breath, the music seemed unaffected.

Perhaps, when played correctly, the bagpipes weren't so bad.

When the song was finished, Pyro hit their triangle with such unbridled glee that even Spy gave a brief chuckle. The Frenchman began clapping. "Well done, gentlemen!"

There were high-fives and back-slaps all around. Scout let out a triumphant holler as he punched the air. Soldier swapped out the trumpet for his bugle and played a quick celebratory tune.

Before he could catch himself, Heavy clapped and shouted, "Well done! Very good!"

The other mercs jumped at the unexpected, booming voice. Scout actually fell off his stool. 

"Heavy!" Medic said, grinning. "How long have you been standing zhere?"

"Heard end of one song and all of last one."

"Vhy didn't you come in, zhen?"

Heavy shrugged. "Did not want to interrupt. Was very good, although I do not know the songs."

"Seriously?" Scout exclaimed, climbing back up to sit behind the drums. "How'd you never hear 'In The Mood' before? I mean, it was before my time, I think, but my ma played the record all time when I was growing up."

"Did not have record player in Russia," Heavy said. "Only have heard what is played here."

"You came at just the right time, my friend," Medic said. "Ve have been vorking almost zhe whole day, but zhis is zhe first time ve have gotten bozh songs right in zhe same run!"

"Yes," Spy said. "It was rather trying.  _Some_ people do not grasp the concept of the word  _quiet_." He looked rather pointedly at Scout and Soldier, but any actual annoyance was tempered by the satisfaction of a job well done. 

"Let's not dwell on all that," Engineer said. "Fellas, y'all did wonderful."

"Indeed," Medic said, nodding. "Sniper, you did quite an impressive job on zhe solos. Almost professional."

Sniper tugged his hat down bashfully and mumbled his thanks. "Had a bit o' trouble with the first one."

"I learned to play a crumpet!" Soldier announced.

" _Trumpet,_ " Spy corrected. 

"That's what I said!"

"Bagpipes were very good," Heavy said. "Did not think was possible, but enjoyed it very much."

Demoman puffed out his chest with pride. "Aye, that's the way they were  _meant_ tae be played! None o' this jazz stuff!"

"Mmph mmph!" Pyro said, bouncing in place and pointing to Spy.

"Yeah, thanks for this, Spook," Sniper said. "'S much as it pains me to say it."

"Can we have dinner now?" Scout asked. "I'm starvin'." His words were emphasized by a loud stomach grumble.

"Dinner sounds wonderful," Spy said, rising from the piano. "It is perhaps too late to make a proper meal, but if everyone is satisfied with sandwiches, I might be able to whip up some _crepes suzette_  for dessert."

_Ding!_

"Sounds like the Pyro's in agreement," Engineer said. "Let's go eat, boys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyro just wants to set the crepes suzette on fire.
> 
> My headcanon for Heavy is that even if someone were to offer him music lessons, he wouldn't take them. It's just not a skill he needs, so he doesn't see the point in it. He can appreciate when other people play, though.
> 
> "In The Mood" with drums: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMSPNORp2B0  
> -For the part referenced, start at 2:00  
> "In The Mood" without drums: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR3K5uB-wMA
> 
> The reel that Engie and Demo play is from this, ending at 1:08
> 
> Edit: I'm an idiot and forgot that Demo plays piano.


	3. Ticklish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all very professional. Really.

"Scout, come to my office zhis morning. You have not received your initial check-up yet."

Scout groaned and dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl with more force than was strictly required. He had been on base for three days, and had managed to avoid visiting the medbay. Now there was no getting out of it.

"C'mon, doc, don't you think it's a little late for that?"

Medic shook his head. "It is a requirement. I expect you in five minutes."

* * *

When the screaming started, it brought everyone running to the medbay, weapons in hand. Thus everyone was witness to one of Scout's more humiliating moments.

The medbay itself was empty, as its occupants were in the hallway. At first glance, Medic appeared to be wrestling Scout into submission. Then the screams turned into uncontrollable laughter.

"Stop! Doc, stop, I'm gonna pee myself!"

Weapons were lowered in confusion as Medic picked himself up with a satisfied grin. "A positive result, zhen."

"What in the glorious name of liberty is going on here?" Soldier asked. 

Medic and Scout became aware of their audience, with differing reactions. Scout sat up and covered his face, groaning, while Medic beamed proudly.

"I vas simply performing a test of ticklishness. Purely routine."

"I do not recall being tickled during my check-up," Soldier said.

A sinister gleam appeared in Medic's eye. "Is zhat so? I seem to have been negligent..."

"Oh, bugger," Sniper muttered.

* * *

_"Mission begins in sixty seconds."_

"Y'all ready?" Engineer's query was met by answering cheers and a  _"Kill 'em all!"_ from Demoman. 

Set-up began. While the rest of the team ran off, Engineer began erecting sentries and dispensers, Pyro positioned themself at one entrance to the intelligence room, and Demoman began spreading sticky bombs around the other entrance.

Pyro couldn't see when Demo's raucous laughter filled the base, unprompted. They rushed to the other entrance, ready to rescue Demo if need be.

Medic had snuck back, it seemed, and was tickling Demo. The explosives expert was too drunk to react in any way other than laughter. 

"Also a positive," Medic said, relenting to make a note on a clipboard. 

"Mmph!" Pyro got Medic's attention, pointed to themself, and then stretched out their arms.

"You vish to be tested next?" Medic asked. When Pyro nodded, he hooked the clipboard onto his medigun and drew closer. "Alright, let's see here..."

Medic's hands darted forward like an attacking snake, aiming straight for Pyro's armpits. No reaction.

"...Perhaps zhe sides?"

Nothing. Pyro seemed disappointed. 

"It is probably zhe suit getting in zhe vay. If you vould be so kind as to remove it--"

Pyro sprinted back to the other entrance before Medic could finish his sentence.

* * *

Throughout the battle, and after it, Medic worked his way through the other REDs. Engineer was only slightly ticklish; Soldier reacted violently when his armpits were threatened, nailing Medic in the face with his shovel; Heavy was completely unfazed. Medic noted all of this and sat back to create his plan of attack.

The ambush took place as his target arrived for dinner. Just as Spy was about to sit down, Medic rocketed out of his chair at a speed Scout would have been proud of, pinned the Frenchman to the ground, and began tickling mercilessly. Spy began yelping.

"Get off, get off, get OFF! Stop!  _Ça suffit !"_

The shrill, panicked tone of voice, growing more desperate as the pleas were ignored, finally caused Medic to pause. Spy rolled over, pushed himself to his feet, and took deep, heaving breaths. His composure seemed shaken, quite literally; he was quivering. 

"Holy shit, Doc, you broke him!" Scout said. 

"Herr Spy, vhat is wrong?" Medic asked, gesturing for the nearest person--Heavy--to get him a glass of water.

Spy took several more deep breaths, sat back on his feet, and gasped, "Never...do that again."

"Ja, ja, I am sorry," Medic said. "Drink zhis, have a seat." 

Spy complied, and managed to recompose himself. He glared defiantly at the other mercenaries, all of whom made sure to stare pointedly at their food.

Dinner that night was consumed in silence.

* * *

"So, Doktor will stop with the tickling?" Heavy asked. The team had gathered in the living room for various activities. Engineer was reading aloud to Pyro, Scout was watching a baseball game with Soldier and Demo, Spy was wordlessly observing, and Sniper was standing in the doorway looking as if he wanted to join a group but wasn't sure how.

"Vell, I only have one more patient to test..." Medic whispered.

"Do not do it."

"I must! I cannot have incomplete results!"

* * *

Engineer looked up from his book and watched as Medic made his approach. He walked casually out of the room and appeared, moving stealthily, behind Sniper in the other doorway. Engineer's eyes flicked over to Sniper, saw no indication that the marksman was aware of Medic's presence, and braced himself for the inevitable 

The moment Medic sprang, he was doomed. Faster than he expected, Sniper whipped around, took hold of his shoulders, and slammed him to the floor. If anyone hadn't been paying attention before, they certainly were now.

Medic gave Sniper a shaky smile. "Heheh...sorry, so sorry. I'll just...go?"

He felt his stomach drop when Sniper's lips stretched into what could only be described as an evil grin. "Not gonna be that easy, mate."

He probably should have been expecting it, but when Sniper began tickling him, Medic was caught completely off guard.

"Stop, stop!" Medic's pleas were smothered by his own uncontrollable laughter. "I surrender!"

"Don't let up, Sniper!" Scout shouted.

"Give 'im a taste of his own medicine!" Soldier laughed. Scout went in for a high-five.

"Not so fun now, is it,  _docteur?"_ Spy smirked.

Needless to say, no one ever tried to tickle Sniper after that. No one wanted the punishment.

* * *

_14) Tickling is not a legitimate medical procedure._

_15) Spy is not to be tickled. Ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of the Rules List!


	4. Criminal Record

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some heavy shit ahead, just warning you.  
> TW: slurs, homophobia

There was more information in the medical records than there should have been. As Medic flipped through the files, taking notes for himself, he saw notes on job history, food preferences, clothing size, and a plethora of other miscellaneous facts that had no business being in a medical record. In fact most of the files included a  _criminal_ record, as well.

Most of it was unsurprising. Murder charges, destruction of property, petty theft,  _serious_ theft, crimes against the USSR...

There was one, though, that surprised Medic. And was, potentially, a source of concern.

* * *

"Sniper, zhank you for coming," Medic said, shuffling papers.

Sniper shifted awkwardly in the too-short plastic seat. "You, uh, what did you want to see me for?" It was unusual for Medic to call someone into his office; usually he was busy with his own projects, and most of the routine stuff had been worked through within the first couple of weeks. 

"Vell you see, I was looking zrough your records and zhere vas zhis bit here...sorry if zhis is too personal, but vhy vould you be listed as a sex offender?"

The change in demeanor was abrupt and impossible to miss. Sniper went from awkward and nervous to tense and alert, all in a single breath. He wouldn't meet Medic's eye. He looked like he was considering either bolting or attacking.

"None o' your business," he growled. His hands clenched into shaking fists.

"Actually, it  _is_ my business, technically speaking," Medic said, voice calm. "I am in charge of zhe vell-being of zhis team. If zhere is somezhing zhat might interfere vith zhis vell-being, I need to know about it."

Sniper's shoulders hunched so far that he seemed to be trying to disappear. "It's not gonna impact the team."

"I vill be zhe judge of zhat, Sniper." When the information was still not forthcoming, Medic sighed and said, "Look, if I have to get zhe Heavy zhen ve can do zhis zhe hard vay..."

Sniper leapt out of his chair and shouted, "FINE! Ya wanna know so badly? Ya really wanna know? 's cuz I'm a bloody faggot!" 

That made Medic pause. "Vhat?"

"You heard me! I'm a fuckin' homosexual, and someone found out and reported me! And now I'm a registered sex offender in more countries than I can count!" Sniper sank back into his chair, face in his hands. His words came out muffled: "If it weren't for Mann Co., I wouldn't even be able to enter the States."

There was a heavy silence in the infirmary after that. Medic observed Sniper, noting the growing tension, the air of defeat, the way Sniper seemed to just  _wilt_. Finally he said, "And zhat is all?"

Sniper glared at Medic through his fingers. "What d'you mean,  _and that's all?_ I'm not a bloody rapist, if that's what your askin'."

"You misunderstand," Medic said. "I vas merely surprised. I do not see vhy Mann Co. saw fit to list you as a sex offender for somezhing so trivial."

"'Cuz it's a bloody crime!" Sniper cried, throwing his hands out to the sides. "It's not natural! They caught me with another man, and we both got charged with sodomy! He committed _suicide_ over it! Don't tell me it's _trivial!_ "

He was standing again, and closer to tears than Medic had ever seen him. The doctor stood up, finally, and moved around the desk to where Sniper stood glaring at his feet. Medic placed his hands on Sniper's shoulders; Sniper's head shot up, alarm and surprise written clearly on his face.

"Trivial vas not zhe right vord. I am sorry to have pushed zhis, Sniper, but I vant you to know zhat your secret is safe vith me. I do not zhink any less of you for zhis."

Sniper frowned. "Why? I'm repulsive, aren't I? Why aren't you disgusted?"

"Because if I had not been hired by Mann Co. ahead of time, I vould have been vearing zhe pink triangle in Germany."

It took Sniper a moment. He mouthed the words  _pink triangle_ to himself, searching his brain for what that meant. Then his eyes widened. " _Oh!"_

Medic cracked a smile. "You see? You are not zhe only homosexual on zhis team. Do not zhink zhat you are repulsive, Sniper. Zhere is nozhing wrong vith loving anozher man."

"Y-you're sure?"

"As sure as can be."

* * *

Sniper knew from an early age that he was gay. He had always been observant, always picked up on things that other people didn't. He knew he was gay when he realized that he spent more time noting the attractive features of other men than he did women.

That wasn't to say he couldn't appreciate a beautiful woman. It was just that he never felt anything other than appreciation. With men, he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss them, hold them, maybe even something more...

His greatest fear, upon taking the job with Mann Co., was that his secret would be discovered during his stay with seven (eight?) other men. Despite himself, he couldn't help noticing the little things that made his teammates attractive.

Soldier had a cute smile, the few times he saw fit to use it. Spy would have been attractive if he weren't such a prick. The way Heavy's face lit up when talking about his guns made anything he had to say interesting. Demoman had a face that was just so nice to look at, perfectly proportioned even with the missing eye. Engineer was intelligent, but he still kept that sweet Southern charm about him. Medic was confident, intimidating, and looked damn _fine_ in that uniform of his. Scout...well, Sniper never really thought of Scout as attractive. The kid was just too young, more like a little brother than anything else. Not to mention that Sniper knew, within ten minutes of hearing Scout talk, that the guy was straight as a gun barrel. 

Pyro...well, Sniper wasn't even sure if Pyro was a man. 

He'd spent years hating himself for his sexuality. He'd spent years internalizing the messages he'd picked up throughout his life, about how he was a sinner, a pervert, a danger to society. 

Standing in the infirmary with Medic was the first time he'd ever felt even close to being  _accepted_. He wasn't sure if he believed Medic, but it sure was good to hear.

If Sniper were a huggy person, he probably would have squeezed the life out of Medic right then and there. But he wasn't, so he just offered a shy smile and said, "Thanks, doc."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addressing the fact that the "Gunmetal" update comic says that some of the mercenaries are sex offenders, and homosexuality was considered sodomy during the time period TF2 is set in.


	5. Group Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know the one.

"Alright, now, everyone squeeze together!"

The mercenaries eyed one another and resolutely did not budge. The photographer heaved a long-suffering sigh; behind him, Miss Pauling rubbed her temples.

"C'mon, guys, just do what he says and this will be over sooner."

The mercenaries exchanged another look, then scooted a bit closer. The photographer snapped a quick photo, then shook his head.

"I can't be sure I got everyone in the frame, miss. And I can guarantee that the photograph won't meet the standard your employer requested."

"What's wrong now? Lighting? Location? We can move to a different area if you want--"

The photographer shook his head. "It's not the ambience, miss. It's the...subjects. Your employer requested a _formal_ photograph, but that doesn't mean the men have to be as stiff as boards. It's uncomfortable to look at!"

"Can we just go? Please?" Scout complained. "I'm tired of sitting here. We've been at it for, like, two hours!"

"It's only been forty-five minutes, Scout," Miss Pauling replied. _Forty-five minutes too long,_ she thought. Then an idea occurred to her. "Hey, guys, why don't you go get your weapons? We can include them in the picture."

The photographer frowned. "I'm not so sure--"

But the men were already scurrying away. To the photographer's surprise, they actually came back.

"Okay," he said, "we're going to have to move some people around..."

He looked at the straight line the mercenaries had formed and stepped forward. "Okay, I want..." he consulted a clipboard "...Mr. Petrovich to stand right here."

Heavy lumbered over to the position indicated, then faced the camera, shoulders rolled forward to support the enormous gun he held.

"Now, I want everyone else to arrange themselves around Mr. Petrovich...no, not in _front_ of him, _around_ him...Mr. Mundy, please come out from behind Mr. Petrovich. There, that's better."

Except it wasn't. They were still too stiff. Spy and Sniper were glaring at each other behind Heavy's back, Medic was standing awkwardly to the side, and everyone seemed to be trying to stand as far away from Pyro as possible.

"We need more people on Mr. Petrovich's right, please."

There was a pause as the mercs cast glances around before Engineer picked up his toolbox and strode over to stand beside Pyro. He plopped the toolbox down and placed one foot on top of it. "That better, sir?"

"Well..."

"It's perfect!" Miss Pauling exclaimed. She shot a forcedly-cheerful look at the photographer. "Nice and natural. The rest of you, just do what feels right."

And just like that, the men fell into place. Before they could move another inch, the photographer snapped the photo.

"Aaaand we're done! I'll have the finished product to you as soon as possible, Miss Pauling."

"Thank you. Let me walk you to your car..."

A few minutes later, there was a gunshot. The mercenaries chose to ignore it.

* * *

The developed photo was framed and hung in RED base, and a copy distributed to each member of the team whether they wanted it or not. Miss Pauling looked at her copy (well, the office's copy, but there was really no one else who cared to look at it) and smiled.

Maybe it was just because she knew the mercenaries personally, but there was a clear indication of their personalities in the way they had chosen to stand. Spy was still glaring at Sniper out of the corner of his eye, no doubt for some slight from earlier; Engie was confident yet nonchalant, looking straight into the camera and daring the photographer to make him move again; Scout and Demo looked like they were ready to bolt at any moment, and truthfully they had been the most impatient, but they also looked downright cocky; Pyro held their flamethrower in mid-swing, and Miss Pauling could practically hear the mumbled cheer; Soldier was all business and pride in a way he hadn't been during the earlier photos; Sniper looked a combination of awkward and confident--awkward because he had to keep his rifle from hitting Heavy, confident because of that _goddamn smirk_ ; Medic's dramatic pose and maniacal grin, paired with his immaculate appearance and proud display of his class symbol, showed off both the reckless and professional aspects of his demeanor; and in the middle of it all, minigun proudly displayed, was Heavy. Despite his obvious placement of his weapon in the foreground, Heavy commanded attention in the photo. From the look on his face, he knew it, too.

Each mercenary added his own individual flavor to the photo, but more than anything they looked like a team. The photographer had wanted a cookie-cutter group photo, two distinct rows of men standing straight and formal against a plain background. That just wasn't RED team.

The moment captured in this photo, though-- _that_ was RED team.


End file.
